The Next Generation
by Miss Lyss
Summary: Set after Scorpia. Alex Rider is dead, and Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones have decided they need to replace him with another teenage operative. So ‘Claire’ aka Jayde comes into the picture. She is the perfect recruit, a impulsive teenager with no real family a
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any of the original characters or plot, they belong to Anthony Horowitz. **

**_Author's Note – hi everyone! This is my second fanfic, but my first Alex Rider. It is set after Scorpia, and actually has nothing to do with Alex Rider himself. The basic story is that Alex Rider is dead, and Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones, being the cold hearted people they are, have decided they need to replace him with another teenage operative. So 'Claire' aka Jayde comes into the picture. She is the perfect recruit, a impulsive teenager with no real family attachments and eager to help them. But Claire is not who they think she is, and MI6 find themselves in big trouble… or are they?_**

_**Please review and tell me what you think!**_

The Beginning

Claire looked around her. The fifteen year old girl appeared like any other teenage American tourist. Her bleached blond hair fell to just above her shoulders, layered and cut at sharp angles in the latest fashion. It was streaked with many colours and had the harsh straightness that came from using a hair straightener. She wore a shiny gloss over a pale pink lip tint, and green mascara weighed down her eyelashes under matching eye shadow, framing wide brown eyes. Her skin was perfectly bronzed, and her slim, well toned figure drew eyes to her tiny denim mini skirt and strapless pale pink top, with the words _Let's Talk (about me) _in glittering letters. Her shoes were thongs with a small heel attached, and her bag hung casually over one shoulder. She walked as if she owned the world, clutching a bundle of brand name shopping bags in one hand as she looked in the windows she passed. She seemed oblivious to anything else, just another teenager on a shopping spree, without a care in the world but whether _Supré _had a sale on. She was forgotten by everyone she passed almost at once, if they had even noticed her in the first place. But Claire was not ordinary. Her real name wasn't even Claire. She forgot no one and nothing, and covertly looked around her, alert for anything out of the average as she seemingly strolled along. Nothing would take her by surprise, and she saw the guy who tried to chat her up and pinch her butt before he even noticed her. Not that incidents like that were high on her list of priorities. She was looking out for any danger, anyone that recognized her. No one should. She had changed drastically in appearance since last setting foot on British soil, and now she was just Claire. If anyone had cared to look she had a school ID in her purse for a Claire Burgess, 17, of Rowan Street High School, California. Fake of course, although there was a school of that name and the ID would have looked authentic even to a student who went there. She did things properly, for carelessness had got people killed more than once. No one _should _recognize her, but what should happen and what did happen were usually two different things altogether.

She had actually been born in England, Liverpool, but hadn't lived in the country for quite a while. She moved around frequently, from the UK to America to Australia to Europe; she had been everywhere. She could change her accent easy as thinking; spoke five languages fluently, was passable at another seven and could understand most of another five; and owned many different IDs and passports. With the right clothes and makeup she could pass for nineteen, if not twenty when she needed too, and often did; by the same token she could look fourteen, which was actually closer to her real age, and helped her pass unnoticed many places. Now she was living as Claire Burgess, 17, an orphan from California who had been raised by her grandmother, the old dear recently passed away. Now Claire had come to London to live with her mother's cousin in Chelsea until she turned 18. Her birthday, according to her fake ID, would be in five months time. So Claire was a troubled, hard to handle teenager who was expected to disappear the day she came of age, and frankly everyone would be glad to see the back of her. It was the perfect cover – even the woman that she was living with did not suspect it was all a lie. Because most of it _was_ true. Claire Burgess lived in California with her grandmother and attended Rowan Street High School. Her mother's cousin, Andrea Woods, lived in Chelsea, England, and had just received news of her Aunt's death. The only trouble was, the real Claire burgess was still in America, and had no intention of coming to Chelsea. Because Jayde was not the real Claire Burgess.

If she had ever had a last name, Jayde could not remember it. She had lived as so many different people ever since she was little, only a handful of people even knew her as Jayde. She had some friends she emailed sometimes, but she was more likely to sign as Jessica or Kristine or, at the moment, Claire than she was to say 'love from Jayde'. That was the mixed up world she lived in. Because Jayde was a spy. At the moment she was working for MI6 – not that they knew she had ever worked for anyone else; come to think of it, they did not know she worked for them yet. She was about to go tell them. They already knew _of_ her, but it was surprising how little they really knew about her. They knew her as Claire, Andrea's new ward, and they were the reason she lived in Chelsea at the moment. Because the headquarters for Special Operations was in a tall, nondescript building on Liverpool Street, the Royal & General Bank. That was where Claire was headed at the moment.

In an office on the seventeenth floor of the Royal & General Bank Alan Blunt looked over at Mrs. Jones. She was a middle aged woman with severely cut black hair, and a stern face. She sat opposite him, unwrapping a mint, and took her time before popping it in her mouth and looking over at Blunt. 'You know what I think, Alan. It was wrong to use Alex in the first place. We can't do that again. It's not right, or fair.' It had been a month since Alex Rider had been assassinated outside this very building, and this was a conversation the chief executive of the Special Operations division of MI6 and the head of that same division had had many times before. Alan Blunt sincerely regretted Alex Rider's death, for many reasons, not the least because he had been extremely useful, and he thought they needed to replace him as soon as possible. Having a teenage operative once more would be very valuable to MI6. But Mrs. Jones did not agree; she had been opposed to using Alex for some time before his death. She did not want to drag another innocent teenager into the dangerous world of terrorism and espionage. But Alan Blunt already had his eye on a likely candidate, another relative of an employee of MI6. A girl, this time – people rarely suspected a child of being a spy, and even more rarely a girl. English by birth, but with a dual American citizenship, Claire Burgess had recently returned to the UK after the death of her guardian in America. She was staying with her second cousin, a receptionist for Royal & General and a part of MI6, and had already been introduced to him. Andrea, of course, had no idea why Blunt might be interested in her cousin's child, but she was an intelligent woman. And the girl was supposed to be a handful. Highly intelligent, making top grades at her school in America especially in languages, fit and healthy from regular gymnastics training, but headstrong and opinionated. Alan still seemed to think Claire would be the perfect choice, used to moving around and fitting in, and bored enough to want some excitement. She was older than Alex had been as well, and he seemed to think that would help his associate's conscience. Mrs. Jones did not agree. She did not want to ruin a young girl's life.

But the choice was taken out of her hands as a call came through on the telephone. Blunt answered, and looked over sharply at the security monitors on the wall. Mrs. Jones followed his gaze and her heart sunk. He spoke three words: 'Send her up.' The phone settled back in its cradle.

She walked into the reception of the Royal & General, head high, looking around with cool disinterest. It was a large, open space; the floor was brown marble, with leather sofas off to one side and three elevators set in one of the walls. Claire quickly noted the five infrared security cameras, the one that swiveled and followed her as she ambled over to the reception desk, hips swaying, the picture of an insolent teenager. The security guard standing next to the desk looked old and tired, but she picked up the way his eyes alertly scanned, following her but keeping the rest of the foyer in his sight as well. This was no ordinary bank. Even if she hadn't already known, Claire would have picked it up in a second. Apart from the extra security – even a bank had a limited budget - she was the only 'customer', no one else wandered through, and the place was strangely silent. She leant forward on the desk, resting her elbows on the cool marble counter and peering at what the receptionist was working on. She did not appear to be doing much. Her desk was tidy and free of any clutter or papers, and the computer was in sleep mode. There was, however, another small hand held device, not quite hidden behind an empty in-tray, that had obviously just been put down. Claire would have loved to have had a look at it; while the receptionist would not know much – Andrea had proven that – every little bit helped. Knowledge was power. Claire smiled sweetly at the receptionist, a young woman with curly brown hair caught up in a knot at the base of her neck and a pretty smile. She didn't wear glasses, and her clear brown eyes met Claire's with more intelligence than the average girl on the front desk. Being polite for once, Claire asked to see Mr. Blunt, and turned without waiting for an answer to the elevators. After a short wait, the centre one gave a ping, and the doors slid silently open. A man in a dark suit greeted her with a cold smile, and didn't say a word as she beamed at him brightly and stepped in. She started chattering, nonsense about the weather and the latest news on TV and her shopping that she only put a quarter of her mind to. Instead she studied him, and realized he was carefully studying her. She laughed to herself. She could have told him she was unarmed, if he had cared to ask. She knew how to use a gun and a knife, but it would be quicker and less messy to kill him with her bare hands. She had surpassed a black belt in Karate, Judo, Tae Kwon Do and Kung fu, as well as training in Thai boxing and other self defense disciplines. If he had known who she was – and he had probably heard one of her aliases, but not connected it with the girl in front of him, why would he? – he would be a lot less relaxed than he was now. But she wouldn't hurt him. That would defeat the purpose. Anyway, if she had been carrying weapons, he wouldn't' have seen them, but she was sure the cameras behind the two way mirror would have. She wasn't positive they were there, but it made sense – it was what she would have done.

The elevator door slid smoothly open on the seventeenth floor and dark suit stood still and waited until Claire stepped out before following her. He then took the lead down a plain corridor, coming to a halt outside a door marked 1701. He gestured to her to open it, still without a word, so Claire gushed a cheery goodbye at him before knocking once and opening the door. Her first glance took in everything about the large room before her. Opposite her was a wide window, looking down seventeen storeys onto the street below. The wall to her right was completely covered from floor to ceiling with rows of TV screens, each showing a view of the lobby and this was obviously the security monitoring room. Two long desks faced the monitors, the back one with five flat plasma computer screens and the front desk with three. A man with dark hair and glasses sat in front of the centre computer in the front row and she took him for a technician at once. At the back of the room, to her left, was a long oval table surrounded by eight chairs, with two neat stacks of folders, one in front of each of the two people sitting at the table. After quickly making sure there was no one else in the room, Claire focused all her attention on Alan Blunt and walked over to him, still smiling brightly. He stood and walked halfway around the table, hand extended. 'Ah, Claire. It's good to see you again. What brings you here?'

'Hi Mr. Blunt! I hoped you would be in. I found this, and thought I should give it to you.' Claire shook his hand quickly and pulled an envelope out of her pocket, giving it to him before walking over to the woman still seated at the table. Subduing her manner a bit, Claire gave a tentative smile. 'Hi. My name's Claire. My guardian works as a receptionist for your bank. How are you doing?'

The woman gave her a calculating look, and then stretched out her hand with a wooden, unfeeling smile. Claire thought this must be Mrs. Jones. She had heard about the woman. Her answer confirmed it. 'My name is Mrs. Jones. It is good to meet you, Claire.' The woman was sucking a peppermint, and the smell of her breath rolled over Claire as they shook hands. It took all her control to keep from recoiling. She hated peppermint.

Claire turned back to Alan Blunt, who was looking at her steadily, the open letter in his hands. The envelope had the words 'Alan Blunt, Manager of the Royal & General Bank, Liverpool Street' in clear, bold handwriting. The inside piece of paper was blank. 'Claire.' She was good at reading people, but she had no idea what this man was thinking or feeling. 'Why are you here?'

'I want to work for you. For MI6. I know Alex Rider is dead, so you need another teenage operative. Me.' Whatever the two had expected, it wasn't that. Mrs. Jones' eyes widened in shock and – was she imagining it? – horror. Alan Blunt blinked twice, before sitting down in the chair he had vacated.

'I cannot imagine you wanting to work at a bank, Claire, and I have no idea where you got the ridiculous notion of MI6 from. I also know no one by the name of Alex Rider.' He had recovered fairly well, but then, she hadn't expected anything less from a man of his experience. Claire stopped smiling and sat down in a chair facing him without being asked to. She ignored Mrs. Jones, but felt her sit beside her. The woman was remarkably soft, quite a disappointment in fact. She had heard better of her. Claire sat, looking at Alan Blunt, giving away none of her own feelings. 'Don't lie to me, Mr. Blunt. Adults tell children not to lie, but do it themselves quite regularly. You are a senior figure in MI6, and I wish for you to employ me as a spy. And before you ask me why I am so set on the idea of MI6, I will tell you.

One: you just told me yourself that I was right. Any real bank manager would have laughed in my face and told me to stop wasting his time with foolish nonsense.

Two: the papers reported the death of Alex Rider right outside this building, when he had no bank account here or any apparent connection with the bank.

Three: some papers also held a whisper of Alex Rider being exploited by the British Secret service, before they were quickly shut up. Nothing more was printed, but I read the articles.

Four: I had always been told that Andrea did special work for the British Government, and then I arrive here and find she works for a bank and has not changed jobs in years.

Five: I have not seen another bank with as much security as this place. There is no money stored in this part of the building, yet there are numerous cameras and armed security personnel just standing around.

Six: what bank needs seventeen floors of offices?

Seven: most other bank managers I have seen, unless America is just odd, do not carry guns or have their drivers and personal assistants carry guns and wear identical suits and dark glasses. I am not stupid Mr. Blunt, and seven and seven equals fourteen at my school.' She looked at him calmly, wondering how he would react. She had worked out carefully what she would say, and her evidence did make sense. She was positive that it was not obvious she had known about this building and Mister Blunt beforehand, from other, more reliable sources. Claire was always very careful. In fact she knew a lot more about Alex Rider than she was letting on too, had even met the boy before he was killed. But they couldn't know that. It must have sounded like a hopeful teenager making a lucky guess as to the real identity of this building, wanting to live out the dream of becoming a spy. She just hoped they would make that 'dream' come true.

**_A/N – What do you think? Please review! Even if you only say hi, I just want to know people are actually reading my story. If you read and review today (Saturday) I might be able to put another chapter up if you want; after that it will be another week at least. _**

**_All ideas are welcome and greatly appreciated. If there is anyone out there who actually lives in London or England, could you please correct me on any mistakes an Australian girl who has never left the country makes? For example, is there Supré in London? I don't know, so please don't think me stupid or get offended, just correct me._**

_**Also, I want to know if you think that they would put Claire through the same military training they did Alex. **_

_**Thanx, Liss**_


	2. The Decision

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any of the original characters or plot, they belong to Anthony Horowitz. **

**_A/N – Hiya everybody! Thanx to those of you who reviewed. I managed to write another chapter. Please tell me what you think. _**

2. The Decision

Alan Blunt was, quite frankly, shocked. He had been slightly surprised when Claire had walked into the lobby just as he was discussing her with Mrs. Jones, but for her to propose exactly the same idea as he was going to put to her? The chance of that had to be a thousand to one. Alan Blunt was very rarely shocked, because he always prepared himself for any eventuality. Maybe he had overlooked something this time. He decided to run another background check on Claire very soon. The things she had said did make sense, but he was surprised a teenage girl had had the intelligence to put together a random sequence of events and come up with a very plausible and in this case correct solution. Maybe she would be very well suited to undercover work. He made a note to himself to make sure weapons weren't as obvious about the place. If this girl could discover what it was, who else could?

He glanced across at Mrs. Jones who sat there, a hard look in her eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder. She was pointedly ignoring him. Her opinion on the matter – even if neither of them had expected it to be brought up in quite this way – was more than clear. One thing Blunt had conceded to her in their many 'discussions' was that Claire was to be given a choice as to whether or not she would work for them. Which as it turned out wouldn't be a problem at all. Not like Alex Rider, who they had blackmailed and bullied into very reluctant and bitter service.

Blunt did actually regret what had happened to the boy. They had dragged him into this world, and it had gotten him killed, broken his heart and forever scarred his perception of the world and his family before that. Alan had often felt sorry for Alex. It wasn't an emotion he ever showed, or spoke about, but the boy had lost his entire family to espionage work. It was quite the anomaly that the Riders had all been involved with the service, and they had all gotten killed for their troubles. Scorpia had taken both his parents, and in the end him, and Yassen, once connected to Scorpia, had taken his uncle. The boy had been thrown into this life before he was ready. When he was assassinated it seemed to be the Rider legacy catching up to him.

If Blunt had believed in such things. He shifted his gaze to Claire. She met his eyes steadily, and he wondered once more who this girl was. Not many people could meet his gaze for long.

'I do not know how you discovered it, but yes, you are correct. And I believe there is a place for you here.' She gave the smallest of smiles.

**_A/N – please review!_** **_Sorry bacon, but I didn't have time 2 wait until you replied. Its only a short chapter, and I get limited net time._**


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